


et moi je t'aime un peu plus fort

by three_things_sid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Community: got_exchange, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_things_sid/pseuds/three_things_sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, after <i>it</i> happened, she thought giving him time and space was the best thing she could do, but now she’s not so sure anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	et moi je t'aime un peu plus fort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the got_exchange on LJ, for the prompt: _Margaery/Loras, comfort!fic with Margaery as the one doing the comforting._
> 
> Title is borrowed from Coeur de Pirate's "Comme des enfants".
> 
> I'm [on tumblr](http://three-things-sid.tumblr.com/) now, in case you want to say hi.

 

The Masters say the last summer days are gone, but it sure doesn't feel that way to Margaery. The sky is bright blue, with no clouds to be seen, and the sun feels warm against her skin. They are in the yard, because her Septa suggested that they make the most of the remaining warm days.

Her little husband is sitting on the ground next to her, enamoured with the three kittens playing in front of him, the world around him forgotten.

Her brother, clad in white silk and wool, is standing only a few feet away. He is watching them, but Margaery knows that he’s not really seeing them, that his mind is somewhere else entirely. It drives her mad, the way he is never really there, even though he’s standing right beside her, is spending more time with her, guarding her, escorting her, than he has in years. His head is always full of memories or daydreams, of things that will never be.

At first, after _it_ happened, she thought giving him time and space was the best thing she could do, but now she’s not so sure anymore. It’s been months and Loras seems as distraught as he had when it happened. Their words are _Growing Strong_ , but it seems like her brother isn’t even trying to anymore. He does his duty, to his family, to his new king, but his heart is not in it. His eyes, which used to shine almost golden, seem dull and empty. There are bags under his eyes, like he hasn't gotten a full night's sleep in a long time, and he is snappish at court and reckless at practice.

It’s frustrating to watch, it makes her feel helpless and, even worse, useless. Feeling useless is not something Margaery handles well. Something inside her gets angry at her brother then, decides that enough is enough. She finds herself snapping at him, “You know that all this sulking won’t bring him back, don’t you?” Her words sound harsh, even to her own ears, and she feels badly immediately after. She sees the surprise on his face, the slight tightening of his jaw, the hurt in his eyes.

But before he can reply or she apologise, Tommen looks up from where Ser Pounce is pawning at Lady Whiskers, and eyes them both curiously. “Are you sad, Ser Loras?” His voice is so full of earnest concern that Margaery’s heart swells with warmth for her little husband.

“You can borrow Ser Pounce, if you want,” the king offers. “He always cheers me up, when I’m sad.”

Her brother, who is usually so full of empty courteousness, seems unsure of what to say to that, his mouth opening and then closing again, so Margaery answers in his stead. “That’s very kind of you, Your Grace.”

Tommen smiles at them then, clearly considering the problem solved, before he notices Ser Kettleblack, who has, without a doubt, come to return the boy king to his mother. Tommen presses a quick kiss to Margaery's cheek, waves goodbye to Ser Loras, and runs towards the other knight, taking the light mood with him.

 

-

 

Her brother avoids her gaze, while she collects Tommen’s kittens, and puts them in the basket Tommen and her snagged from the kitchen and padded with wool to make it more comfortable, but reaches out and takes it from her as soon as she is done.

The Queen Regent complained about ruined furniture and scratched fabric, when she first gifted them to her son, so they are staying in Margaery's chambers now.

Loras follows her wordlessly, and she isn’t sure what he would prefer, if she apologised and resumed the matter or pretended she never said anything in the first place, but she knows things can’t go on like they have.

 

-

 

As soon as they doors close behind them she flops onto her bed with a sign, proper posture forgotten. Loras on the other hand doesn't move from his place by door. He stands there like he is just some guard and not her brother, and it makes her uneasy. “Don’t just stay there like that,” she says, when he shows not intention to move. 

“As Your Grace commands,” his voice is even, almost callous, and Margaery finds herself flinching at the formality of it all, but she guesses she deserves that after before, but she replies anyway, “Don't call me that.”

“You used to love it, when I called you that.” He says, but his voice softens a tad, and he finally moves away from the door, makes his way to her bed.

“Not when you're mad at me.” 

“I'm not.” He carefully places the basket holding the, now sleeping, kittens on her nightstand, and sits down on the foot of her bed. “I'm just not sure what you want from me?”

_I want you to be happy_ , she thinks. _I want you to smile at me and mean it. I want you to find something else that makes you happy. (I want to be enough to make you happy.) I want things go back to how they were before._ But she can't say that, because she knows how childish and self-centered it sounds.

She pushes herself up, moves to sit across from him, their knees touching, and admits, “I - I don't know, okay? I just hate seeing you so sad.”

Loras used to be a cheerful child, much like herself, full of laughter and boundless energy, they both lacked Willas’ seriousness and Garland’s sobriety. Back then, they used to share everything, but while Renly was dear to her and she grieves for him as a friend (and as her king), it’s just not the same. Margaery has never been in love, at least not like _that_ , and it’s like there is this whole part of Loras, a part solely reserved for Renly, that she can’t reach. No matter how much she tries.

“You know I really didn't want to like Renly, the first time you brought him home?” she asks instead, carefully, still not sure if mentioning her brother's lover is a good idea, but after all not talking about him hadn't helped either. And Loras looks at her then, really looks, so she continues, “It's not that he wasn't nice or anything.” He had been, nice and polite, and oh so, so charming. “I just didn't want to share you.”

A part of her had despised Renly a little, for taking Loras away from her. Willas was kind, telling her stories whenever she asked (or demanded), but too old to really play with her, and Garland was barely home, but that hadn't mattered, because Loras had been hers.

“I know,” her brother replies, and there is the hint of a smile on his lips, “I happen to be very desirable.” But then he signs, and she notices something shift in his eyes, and when he speaks again the smile is gone, and his voice is soft and full of longing. “It would've been so perfect, you know?”

“I know”, she says and takes his hand in hers, squeezes it gently.

 

-

 

He seeks her out more and more after that. Not just when it's his duty, but whenever he seems to have time to spare. Before breakfast, while she is getting ready. (Which is not proper, she knows, but she doesn't have to heart to send him away, and it's not like she has ever been that proper to begin with.) While Tommen is with his mother or studying, or at night after everyone else has gone to sleep.

Most of the time Margaery doesn't have to say much, or anything at all. It seems that some dam broke the first time they spoke of Renly, and now her brother can't stop.

At first he only speaks of recent events, about conversations they shared and plans they made. After a while he starts to share even more. He tells her about their favourite spot, a secret clearing just outside Storm's End. About the first time Renly kissed him, behind the stables, and how nervous he'd been, how a part of him had been certain that Renly would never mention it again, how relieved he had been when Renly proved him wrong.

She thinks about her own experiences then, how she shares everything with her cousins. How they sometimes fall asleep giggling and whispering, exited about every new development. It's the first time she realizes that she never did that with her brother, that he probably never did that with anyone, and how lonely he must have been sometimes.

 

-

 

He is sitting in from of her chair now, his back resting against her legs, his head in her lap. The book she had been reading before he arrived forgotten on the floor. Her fingers are brushing through his brown curls, playing with them, while he talks about the first tournament Renly ever took him to.

His hair has gotten long over the past year, and it reminds her of when they were children. Margaery had not been good at braiding hair, her septa would complain that she was too impatient, too fickle, and her cousins had grown tired of her attempts to style their hair, so Loras had allowed her to practice on him. His locks had almost been as long as hers then, well past his chin, brushing his shoulders. And she had loved every second of it, the way it felt against her fingers, how patient he was with her, but most of all the fact that she had him all to herself.

 

-

 

It's late and Margaery is sure that most of the castle is already asleep, but she is not feeling even close to tired yet. They're lying in her bed, Loras on top of the sheets, she under them.

He hasn't said anything in quite a while, so she waits, traces his features with her fingertip. The curve of his eyebrows, his nose, that has the same shape as hers.

Just as she wonders if maybe he is asleep after all he starts to speak again. His voice trembles as he recounts the meeting with Stannis that went as wrong as it possibly could, of shadows and armour split in half by powers beyond his comprehension.

He curls into her when he's finished, buries his face in the crock of her neck and she wraps her arms around him. Even though he doesn't make a sound, she knows he is crying, feels his tears on her skin. She holds him, like her mother used to hold her when she was nothing but a little girl, until his breathing evens out and she is sure he is asleep.

 

-

 

He is already gone when she wakes up the next day, but the other side of the bed is still warm and her pillow smells like him, so she guesses he must have gotten a good night's rest at least.

She's watching Tommen and Alysanne play Come-Into-My-Castle when he finally joins her, he sits down on the bank beside her, but makes a point of not looking at her when he speaks, clearly uncomfortable with last night's events. “Thank you,” he starts, then clears his throat and adds, “for listening, and for, you know, the other stuff.”

She eyes him cautiously, but comes to the conclusion that he looks better than the day before. The bags under his eyes aren't as dark and there might even be the hint of a glow in his eyes.

“Anytime,” she assures him, before she leans against him, rests her head against his shoulder. "But just so you know," she adds after a moment, "A honourable knight would stay until the morning, not sneak away in the middle of the night."

"I'll make sure to remember that then," he mumbles against her hair.

She shrugs a little, “It's okay, I can always borrow Ser Pounce if I get too lonely. He likes to cuddle.” The look he shoots her then is nothing short of scandalised, and she can't help but giggle in reply.

She thinks that maybe they'll be alright after all. Winter hasn't fallen upon them yet, so there is still time.

 


End file.
